


French Fries

by Livelovelupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pining, Summer Love, midnight snacks, unstablished Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livelovelupin/pseuds/Livelovelupin
Summary: Sirius Black is spending two weeks of his summer vacation at the Lupin cottage, and all the feelings he has for a certain brown-haired, golden-eyed werewolf are platonic, thank you very much!
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147





	French Fries

Sirius Black was no stranger to all-nighters and watching sunrises and little insomniac episodes.

It has always been like that, as far as Sirius knew or was assed to remember. He was never much of a sleeper; he could run on five-minute naps throughout the day, and he managed to get anywhere from 45 minutes to three hours of sleep some night, which was all he needed. Or something like that.

Which was why he was awake in the dead of night at the Lupin household on a bleak Tuesday (or Wednesday, was it midnight, yet?) night on summer break.

Sirius loved staying at the Lupin’s house. He’d been staying two weeks every year, two years in a row, now. Usually, after week two, he and Remus went to stay with the Potters, where they’d spend the rest of the break. Wormtail would join them after a week or so, as well. It was really fun, and Sirius seriously (ha!) admired Mrs. Potter’s stamina and patience.

(But, she had raised James potter himself, after all. She probably handled the mania of the marauders, as she had once eloquently put it, just fine.)

The Potter household was probably Sirius’ favorite place, ever (aside from Hogwarts, maybe).

The tiny shed-like-home that the Lupins lived in was a very (very) close second, though. It was very tiny, indeed. There was a living room with a sofa and a patterned-with-doodled-hearts armchair that was so out of place in the rather tame looking, cream-colored space, which made Sirius love it even more. There was also a t.v. (Yes, a t.v, and a record player with Queen and The Beetles records. And a microwave, that Sirius was seriously tempted to use to heat various things, but couldn’t, because the last time he was there he put a packet of chips in and it all but almost exploded. Remus, subsequently, banned Sirius from using it, which was completely irrational, because how was Sirius to know? Anyway, a t.v and various other muggle technological devices that Sirius loved. It was all Hope, since she was a muggle. Sirius probably loved Remus’ mother more than he loved Remus himself, which was really, really saying something.) 

There was also a kitchen that was Sirius's favorite thing in the whole place. The kitchen was the biggest room in the entire home, probably the size of the living room plus Remus’ bedroom. It was super bright and warm, and it smelt like the delicious brownies Hope baked and the dinner that was apparently Lyall’s specialty. (Both aforementioned delicacies made Sirius’ mouth water; it really was a mystery why Remus was so hopeless in the kitchen when his parents were basically chefs. But he was cute, and thus excused in Sirius’ mind.) The kitchen was welcoming, if nothing else. It was where the Lupins ate dinner, seeing as there was no dining room, but instead a table in the kitchen with four mismatched chairs. Two of them were metal blue patio chars, and the other two were folding green chairs that were strangely comfortable.

Sirius loved the way it looked messy in the best way possible. Sirius also loved the fact, that if that place were a person, it would be the exact opposite of the Black-family-mansions-as-persons, as in, it was his parent’s probable worst nightmare, as in, the reason Sirius adored it in the first place.

There was a staircase that led to Remus’ bedroom, a bathroom, and Lyall and Hope’s room.

If Sirius wasn’t as prideful as he was, he’d admit that Remus's room was his favorite place, ever.

(Forget Hogwarts and the Potter’s ((sorry)) and the whole fucking world)

He spent most of his time while at the Lupin’s in Remus’ bedroom, which might sound scandalous, except it really wasn’t. Sirius would love to do a variation of scandalous things to Remus, for Remus, with Remus… but he didn’t. (Yet.)

(He will break someday, soon.)

But still, even then, Remus’ bedroom was Sirius’ favorite place, partly because Remus was his favorite person, and therefore, his room would be his favorite place.

Sure.

Remus’ room smelt like him. There was a twin bed pushed against a wall (much to Sirius’ dismay, though they’d probably fit if they were close enough. Maybe.)

There was an old bookcase (because of course there was), holding 52 books inside (not that Sirius had counted).

(And not that he took the most worn-out looking ones to read. He didn’t regret it, one bit. Remus had written in the margins and marked his favorite bits. They, in turn, became Sirius’ favorite.)

A desk that Sirius had never actually seen the surface of, at all. It was full of notebooks and paper and ink and quills and pens (Sirius liked those, so much neater and more convenient. Genius.) and more books.

A closet pushed at the foot of the bed, almost there as an afterthought, made from a different shade of wood and everything. The closet doors were always open, and when Sirius asked Remus about it, he said he didn’t mind. Sirius told him that was probably an early sign of sociopathy.

Remus laughed.

Remus’ room was never tidy; it looked like it was throwing up paper and pens and such. Yet his bed was almost always made, and there was always light coming from a window Sirius liked to sit under. The room smelt nice, as well.

Sirius had opened a notebook, once. It was sitting at the very top of the pile and was full of poem after poem after poem. When Sirius asked Remus about it later, he said that he wrote them down to memorize them, because Remus was the kind of person to sit down and memorize love poems.

Sirius nodded, resisting the urge to bite on his fist.

_ Recite your damned poetry to me, damnit! _

Sirius shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He tried to get in a more comfortable position to drift off for a couple of minutes, at least. While at the Lupin household, Sirius slept on the couch. Remus offered him his bed every time. Sirius refused, partly because he didn’t want to feel like a burden, and partly because he didn’t want to sleep on Remus’ bed unless Remus was in it, with him.

He slept on the couch, instead. And it was comfortable, Lyall put a cooling charm on it, and Hope gave him no less than five pillows and two blankets (even though it was burning outside). It was comfortable, but he just couldn’t sleep.

Sirius sighed, before shifting position again. He could count sheep? Recite potion steps? Sirius banged his head on the sofa arm behind him. It hurt. He was just too damn restless to function.

_ Remus is never restless, _ Sirius thought, because, every single one of his thoughts had recently been starting and ending with Remus Lupin. And because it was true; Remus slept so much, usually. Except maybe near the full moon. Sirius hated full moons so, so much. The next one was in two days, so he knew that Remus wasn’t asleep, as well. He hated them.

He would spend time as Padfoot with Remus during the night, even there. He tried to hide it from Lyall at first, but he eventually found out. Much to Sirius’ relief, he was more impressed than anything else.

Sirius closed his eyes, trying to stay still (he’d read that it helped, somehow.) If he could just fall asleep…

There was noise, coming from the kitchen 

Sirius opened his eyes and saw that someone had turned on the lights. That calmed him; an intruder wouldn’t turn on the lights. Sirius, for whatever reason, felt uneasy, still. He decided to go check it out. Better safe than sorry.

(There was not a single phrase that contradicted the very existence of Sirius Black like ‘Better safe than sorry’. Sirius was very much a ‘better sorry than safe’ kind of person. Maybe the lack of sleep was the reason for the deliriousness.)

Sirius got up, slowly, from where he was laying down. He held out his wand as he held it in DADA practical lessons, at home, and when he dueled. He headed toward the kitchen, slowly at first, but then he kind of lost his pace. When he entered the kitchen, he let out a breath and unclenched his jaw.

No intruder. Just Remus, who was head deep in the freezer, rummaging through, with a packet of something held near his chest.

Sirius smiled; it was a gorgeous sight, really. He didn’t want to startle Remus, as he had yet to have noticed Sirius. The thing was, Sirius also kind of did want to startle him (a marauder through, through, and through.) Sirius settled on clearing his throat loudly and snorted instantly. Remus flinched quite violently, the package in his hand falling and his head hitting the freezer from the inside.

Sirius’ snort seemed to have transformed into a fit of very giggly giggles (which he would deny if ever asked about). Remus let out a breath, seemingly grateful that it was Sirius and no one else. He bent down to pick the packet from the floor, and glared in Sirius’ direction, the moment of gratitude gone.

Sirius knew that it meant nothing; for one, Remus wasn’t a grudges kind of person. Two, Sirius could see the grin that was almost, almost taking over Remus’ entire face.

Remus was the open-book, heart-on-sleeve, easily-read person, at least to Sirius he was.

Sirius adored that about him.

“Some type of guest you are, asshole,” Remus said, while opening and closing cupboards, in a hushed whisper, that frankly, did things to Sirius.

“The best type of guest, moony! Just ask your mom, she’d tell you.” Sirius winked as he sat down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table, and Remus rolled his eyes, fondly.

(Sirius hoped, at least.)

Remus got out a huge pan, set it on the stove, and began rummaging once more. He stopped abruptly and faced Sirius. “What the hell are you doing up?”

“What the hell are  _ you _ doing up?” Sirius retorted, aware that it was the lamest thing he could have said. It was okay, though; he forgave himself.

(Only because it was almost dawn, Sirius guessed. You were forgiven for what you said in the late hours of the night, early hours of the morning. Humans were unusually stupid, then, and as much as Sirius would like to think he was superior to mortals, he really wasn’t.)

((Remus could attest to that.))

Also, this was Remus. Nine out of ten times, Sirius was doing\saying something stupid within Remus’ presence. His brain would think of something cool, and it would want to impress Remus so badly it wouldn’t think critically of that thing until it was said\done. Sirius needed to work on that; Sirius needed to work on a lot of things.

(oops)

Remus shook his head, smiling. Sirius could see how tired he looked; with half-closed eyes, languid movements, soft smiles, and mismatched pajamas. It was heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Did I wake you?”

“I couldn’t sleep, moony…”

“Neither could I.” Remus bit his lip, still gently smiling. He said nothing more as he filled the pan with oil and turned on the stove.

“Midnight snack?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

Remus chuckled, softly, sweetly, sleepily, gorgeously. Sirius’ heart did a backflip.

“Something like that… was looking–” Remus got interrupted by a ‘hiss’ sound as he emptied the bag’s contents into the pan, “–through. Found these. They go bad in two days. No need for that to happen, no?”

Sirius hummed. “What are those?”

Remus turned from the stove to Sirius, looking surprised. “You don’t know what French Fries are?”

Sirius shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, now it’s sad. Your first time eating French Fries, and they’re shitty frozen ones.”

“The horror!”

“Shut up.” Remus smiled. “We could go to this place near here, best fucking fries ever. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Sirius said, trying to sound unbothered, and trying not to sound too fucking excited. It didn’t work, and Sirius hoped Remus didn’t notice.

Remus busied himself, taking out a plate and paper towels and a weird looking spoon with holes in it (Maybe Remus was hopeless in the kitchen, compared to his parents, at least. Sirius always told himself that he was only hopeless in muggle kitchens. He could almost hear Remus’ snort if he ever confessed). Remus watched the pot, the stove, and was humming a song Sirius didn’t actually know, but could hum all the same just from how often Remus did. He ought to ask him about it one day; the tune got stuck in Sirius’ head a lot. It was good.

(Or maybe the person humming it night and day was good. Details, details, details.)

Sirius busied himself watching Remus. He felt content, if anything. Calm and somber, with a dull ache settling against his skull and ribcage, surrounding his heart. Sirius watched Remus, focused on what he was doing.

Sirius wanted more, more, more. He wanted to cook with Remus, to sing with Remus, to dance with Remus, to sleep next to Remus in his stupidly small bed. He wanted to buy him sappy presents and sit close to him and kiss him, he wanted to so, so bad. And that want had settled as a dull ache because Sirius would never risk what he had with Remus, as of then. The beautiful friendship that Sirius would trade for absolutely nothing, ever. He could deal with the ache and the stupid want, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought of losing Remus over anything at all. If that meant that their relationship would stay platonic, Sirius would just have to learn to deal with it.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

(Sirius felt like he was going to explode with all that; the want and the ache and the ‘dealing with it’. Very soon. He was just delaying the inevitable, really).

“Can I help, chef?”

“The thought is very much appreciated, pads,” Remus said, as he turned off the stove, “but no, thanks. I’d rather nothing explode.”

_ I will, _ thought Sirius. “You’re one to talk!” he said with a scoff, instead.

Remus grinned in his direction. He unfolded one of the chairs and sat down, setting the plate of French Fries on the table in front of them.

“Bon appetit,” said Remus, nudging the plate to Sirius. Sirius took one, put it in his mouth, and spat it out immediately.

“Ah!” Sirius said, with his tongue hanging out, and a half-chewed French Fry in the palm of his hand. “Hot, ah!”

Remus, being horrible, started laughing, rather loudly. He had to put his hand on his mouth to muffle the laughter.

Sirius would do, and continue doing, all sorts of stupid things (I.e, like what he just did) for the rest of his life, three hundred and one times a day, if it meant Remus laughing as hard as he was then. Sirius was smiling, internally, at least. His heartfelt like a light-heavy weight in his chest and something in his stomach was hitting its walls as if wanting to get out, or tickling it from the inside. So yeah, he was smiling and laughing internally. He tried his best to keep the scowl on his face sincere, or as sincere as he could keep it, when he stood up to throw the lump in his hand in the trash (yuck), and wash his hands.

“You twat!”

“How am I a fucking twat?” Remus was still chuckling softly when Sirius sat down.

“You just are, moony. You can’t seem to help it.”

“You get so butthurt, Merlin.”

“I absolutely do not!”

“Sure, Sirius,” Remus said as he got up, opening the fridge, "You’re never butthurt, never petty, never unreasonable, never–”

“I think I get it, thanks,” Sirius said, flatly. Or tried to, more like it. Remus sat down again, a bottle of ketchup in his hand.

“You eat this with ketchup?”

“So,” Remus said, as he put some ketchup on the side of the plate, “you know what ketchup is, but not French Fries?”

“Wormtail told me about it, said t’was his favorite food, I don’t quite get it, now, seeing how it looks–how would you describe that texture, moons?”

“I’m not sure… Gloopy? Slimy, maybe… liquid, but also not runny– why am I doing this?” Remus interrupted himself, which made Sirius snort. He liked him too much, this wasn’t fair to his heart.

“Wait a second,” Remus said, closing the container. “Peter told you that ketchup is his favorite food? What, does he drink it?”

“Hell if I know, moony. Don’t judge the man.”

“I’m not judging! I bet your favorite food is worse. What’s that?”

“I’m not sure,” Sirius said, thinking about it for a second. “Pomegranates, maybe?”

_ “What?” _

“What! They’re good, Remus. It’s fun to eat the individual seed things, as well.”

Remus shook his head. “Only your answer would be damned pomegranates. It’s such a Sirius Black answer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Remus said, shaking his head, biting his lip. His dimple appeared, only the left one, though…

“What’s yours?” Sirius asked, even though he hadn’t needed to. Sirius knew what it was.

“Brownies.”  _ the ones his mom made, the ones he wouldn’t shut up about in their first year… _

_ _ Remus looked giggly, if that was something you could look. “They’re cooled down, now.”

“Please, you go first, monsieur Lupin.”

Remus took a fry and threw it in his mouth. Sirius followed suit.

“So?”

Sirius shrugged, “I’m not sure, they’re oily.”

“Such a health nut.”

Sirius just glared at Remus, with as much malice as he could muster while feeling unbelievably giddy. He ate another one. “The ketchup makes them better. Maybe Wormy in up to something.”

“Ugh.”

Sirius ate another one, again, He didn’t really know why, though. They weren’t that good, and honestly soggy. He reached again and ate two at a time.

“Slow down there, champ.”

“See? Twat.”

Remus’ dimple appeared, again. “You are not going to believe me when I tell you this.”

“What?” questioned Sirius, mouth full. Remus cringed and said something about manners. Sirius rolled his eyes,  _ “What?” _

_ “ _ I don’t know why I never told you this,” he ate a fry, “But, did you know that my dad and yours went to Hogwarts at the same time? Same year and everything.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. When I came back home for winter break first year, I talked about you guys, and, uh, my dad told me that he went with your dad. Was all like ‘Horrible person, Orion. You don’t want to go mixing with those kinds of wizards, Remus.’ I was so confused, because up until then, the only ‘horrible’ thing I saw you doing was making an owl follow Slughorn around for a day, and I helped you with that…”Remus trailed off, looking a mixture of happy and nostalgic. Could you be nostalgic at 16?

“That’s why your dad hated me when I came here for the first time! I told you he did, and you were like ‘Stop imagining things.’,” Sirius mocked. “Well, I wasn’t, asshole!”

Remus just shrugged, smiling. “You just missed the perfect opportunity to call me a twat.”

“Damnit,” Sirius muttered, jokingly, as he munched on another fry. He stopped questioning it; these things were quite addicting.

“He doesn’t anymore, you know,” Remus said, looking thoughtful. “You proved him wrong, I think. Seems you have a knack for that.”

“Proving people wrong?”

“About you, yes. They have this… image crafted in their head, and you are the opposite in every single way. Dramatic, really. Someone should write something about you,” Remus looked like he hadn’t meant to say the last part. Sirius grinned.

“I am rather interesting, moony,” Sirius grinned as Remus groaned. “Want me to be your muse?”

“Twat,” Remus mumbled, throwing a fry at Sirius, which Sirius dodged in time.

“It is a rather satisfying insult, don’t you think?” Sirius said, with the prime goal to make Remus smile. Remus snorted. It was a success.

“I think,” Remus said, getting up, after a moment or two of comfortable silence, “that I am gonna try to get some sleep.” He washed and dried his hands, smiled at Sirius, and was just about to leave when he stopped, turning to Sirius. “Try to do the same, yeah? Count backward, it helps… G’night, Sirius.”

“Good night,” Sirius replied, and Remus headed toward the stairs. A few moments passed before Sirius banged his head on the table. Once, twice, three times. The fourth time actually hurt. He cursed under his breath and rubbed the spot that hurt on his skull.

How was he supposed to appreciate the platonic relationship and ‘beautiful friendship’ with all that? How did Sirius expect himself the ‘deal with it’, if it was _ that?  _ It felt so natural and real and easy. when Sirius spent time with Remus, he was less tired, less reckless, less cruel. Happier, younger, sappier, dumber… He was better, always.

Sirius stared idly at the plate of half-finished fries, and he decided then and there that he would risk it. He couldn’t stop thinking about more with Remus, couldn’t just accept what they already had. Remus could always refuse, and their relationship and entire dynamic would never be the same. The thought terrified Sirius to no end, but the want, want, want outweighed the fear, by a lot. He was a fucking Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake. What was a little rejection? A little fear? A little risk? He could deal with it, he could face it.

And, what was life really, without a little risk?

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite things that I've written! I love writing Sirius all swoony and in love. I hope it was enjoyable!  
Find me on [tumblr](https://livelovelupin.tumblr.com/)  
Thank you so much for reading! xx


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